The Phaeton
by azurefang
Summary: This is a flashback to pre-vampire days, when Damon was a teenager. He takes a horse and buggy to race with another boy. Warning: there is a whipping.


THE PHAETON

(A sporty light-weight vehicle of the horse-and-buggy days)

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. Original characters, such as Howard Fell and Martha, are mine.

A/N This is a one-shot from Damon's teen years, when he defied his father so he could try to win a driving race. Warning: a whipping.

Damon was sixteen, soon to be seventeen, as he led the chestnut horse from its stall in the barn. He took the gelding into the adjacent large shed where carriages, wagons and harness were kept.

"What're you doing, Damon," came a younger boy's voice.

Annoyed, Damon turned and looked at his little brother, a blonde nine-

year-old. He was inquisitive and always poking his nose in where it didn't belong. Still, he was a loveable boy and Damon rarely felt anger toward him.

"I'm just going for a drive. I thought I'd see if Miss Martha Lacey would go with me," Damon explained. He was lying because sometimes Stefan could not be trusted to keep a secret very well.

"You like her special, don't you," Stefan grinned.

"I do. And it's none of your business." He was putting the harness on the horse as he spoke.

"I bet you _kiss _her. Eww. I don't like girls. Well, except for Barbara Ann," Stefan said, making a face of disgust.

"Boys your age aren't supposed to like girls. But _someday_…," Damon teased. He knew the little girl Barbara Ann was a rough and tumble tomboy.

"Never!" Stefan declared. "Why are you taking Mother's phaeton? Did Papa say you could? Does Martha like phaeton rides?"

"Sure she does," Damon answered with a grin as he pulled the carriage forward a bit.

"Mother let me drive once, but I was little. I'll be glad when I'm big enough to go by myself. Do you think Papa'll let me soon? I think I'm big enough already, don't you?" For a quiet boy, he could be chatty sometimes.

Stefan still called their father "Papa," but soon the man would require him to use "Father," a more grown-up term.

"Almost," Damon said as he aligned the horse with the sporty four-wheeled carriage. The stableman kept the several horse-drawn vehicles clean and shiny. Giuseppe Salvatore did not want to be seen in one of his carriages if it wasn't well-cared-for. Nor had he allowed his late wife out in hers if it wasn't spotless. The small phaeton was kept dusted and covered, even though it had sat in the barn for years now since Elizabeth's death.

Damon had asked permission to use the vehicle several times so that he could go for drives with girls he liked. His father had given permission if he thought the girl was from a good family and would behave properly. The truth was, not all girls from good families behaved properly and Damon knew what ones did not.

He liked this phaeton, although this model was considered a lady's vehicle. It only had one seat, barely room for two people. No chaperon for the girl.

He finished connecting the harness on the horse to the vehicle and led the horse named Lark outside. It was a slender, refined animal with considerable spirit. What was important to Damon was that it was fast. He liked a spirited, fast horse when he went riding and he liked the same when he was driving.

"Are you going to race Lark?" Stefan asked, looking intently up at his old brother.

"What?" Damon asked in surprise.

"I heard you talking to Howard Fell yesterday. You're going to _race_ against him, aren't you?" There was excitement in Stefan's dark green eyes. "Can I come? Please, Damon!"

"No, I'm not going to race with Howard," Damon lied. "I'm taking Miss Martha for a nice drive. This is beautiful spring weather."

"I know you're going to go racing. I want to come! I'll tell Papa if you don't let me," the younger boy said. He was trying to be forceful, but he was afraid his brother would just laugh and go off without him. He was also afraid of his father and didn't have the courage to tattle on Damon.

"You tell and you'll be sorry, little brother," Damon said, putting on a threatening expression. He seriously doubted that Stefan would tell. The boy hated the fact that their father would whip Damon almost as much as Damon hated being whipped.

Stefan pouted. "It's not fair. I want to see you beat Howard when you race. Lark is faster than his horse, isn't he?"

"_I_ think so," Damon admitted with confidence. He looked down at the hopeful face of his little brother. "All right. You can come." He looked at his pocket watch. He couldn't stand around discussing it with Stefan any longer.

Stefan grinned and climbed up onto the seat quickly before Damon could change his mind.

"There isn't any room for Martha," Stefan observed as Damon joined him on the seat.

"Then I guess Martha can't come with us."

Damon lightly touched the whip he held to the horse's rump and the animal set off from the barn at a good trot. They went past the big house and Damon didn't worry that his father would see that the younger boy was with him. Giuseppe was in his study chatting with Mr. Gilbert, whose carriage waited out front. The boys' exit from the property was observed by one of the house servants, however, as she swept the front porch.

"I like the way you drive," Stefan said with enthusiasm. "Papa doesn't make the horses hurry."

"I like a little speed. In fact, I like a lot of speed," Damon said with a grin. He clucked to the horse and the animal trotted even faster.

"Where are we going?"

"Over on the road past the Wickery Bridge. By Hamrick's farm." He eased the horse over toward the side of the road a bit as the morning stage coach rumbled by, heading for Mystic Falls. A cloud of dust briefly enveloped them. Lark snorted at the coach, but didn't break stride.

After a while, the phaeton crossed the wooden bridge over the river, and a quarter mile beyond Damon turned the horse onto another dirt road. A group of boys was gathered there, some on horseback and a couple in vehicles. One boy, a year older than Damon, was Howard. He sat in his two-wheeled gig. Harnessed to it was a sleek gray horse that repeatedly tossed its head up and down and pawed the ground.

"That horse looks fast, doesn't it?" Stefan observed.

"It is, but we're going to see if Lark is faster," Damon said. He greeted the other boys, some older that he, some younger.

There was some discussion among the group and decisions were made. Also, some small bets were made. Two of the boys on horseback rode off down the road. They would wait at the finish line and judge who was the winner if it was close. A few others went after them. The rest would follow the racers.

The road in this location was not wide, but the grassy areas on both sides were flat and brush-free for some distance. Three vehicles lined up side by side. Damon, on the outside, had considered putting Stefan on a horse with one of the other boys, because of the possibility of an accident with the vehicles. He changed his mind and kept the younger boy with him. There shouldn't be any trouble, especially if he could get ahead of the other two boys, which he thought he could do.

The race started amid shouts of encouragement for the three drivers, Damon, Howard and Phillip. Damon shouted and whipped Lark into a gallop, as did the other two drivers. Beside him, Stefan held on tightly and looked both excited and a bit fearful. For a short way, the three horses ran almost neck and neck, but then Phillip's horse in the middle lost ground.

In moments, Damon and Howard were urging their horses on and neither seemed to gain ground over the other. They galloped on and a problem loomed ahead. The Hamrick farm had fences on both sides of the road. Although the space was essentially two-wagons wide, the tract was still a bit narrow. The two racing vehicles would have to be carefully controlled or they would hit wheel-to-wheel or scrape the fence.

"Damn it," Damon muttered and he laid the whip onto Lark's back. He had expected to be out in front by then. He knew Howard had felt the same way. The horse managed to move about half his body ahead of the gray horse, but he was not going to get away out in front. "Hold onto me, Stefan," Damon ordered and he felt his brother put his arms around his body. "Hold tight."

The two vehicles entered the area between the fences. The gray swerved just a bit and that brought the wheels of the gig into contact with those of the phaeton. There was a grinding sound, but the wheels didn't lock. However, the contact jounced the phaeton a little and it moved over enough to make contact with the wooden post-and-rail fence and a bush on the road-side of the fence.

Damon knew the phaeton's wheels and shiny finish was being badly scraped. He envisioned a good whipping in his immediate future. As best he could, he steered Lark away from the fence before they could slam into one of the posts hard enough to cause a real wreck. He was very aware that little Stefan was there with him.

One the other side, the gig then brushed the opposite fence. It bounced off and came back toward Damon. He heard the wheel hubs grinding together. Still, he urged Lark on, shouting at him and smacking him with the whip. The chestnut pulled ahead a little more until the wheel hubs were clear of each other. The gray horse's wild-eyed head was just to the side of Damon and Stefan's seat as they thundered past the road leading to the Hamrick house.

Within a short distance, Lark crossed the finish line half a body-length ahead of the gray. The two young drivers, covered with dust and dirt, eased the horses to a stop. While Damon basked in the congratulations he received for winning, he was also concerned about the damage to the vehicle.

"Papa's going to be really mad," Stefan said, when he saw the damage to the side of the phaeton. The metal tire on one wheel was partly loose. "He's going to whip you, Damon."

"Your pa's going to tan your hide for that," one of the boys nearby ascertained.

"I reckon he will if he sees it. Maybe I can get the phaeton back into the carriage shed without Father seeing it," Damon said, hopefully.

The boy Howard was enough of a gentleman to congratulate Damon on his win. Unlike Damon, he said his vehicle was his own and he would not be whipped for damaging it.

Damon drove home, happy with his victory, but apprehensive about hiding the damage from his father. "If we get back to the barn without Father seeing what happened, don't you dare tell him, Stefan."

"I won't," the boy promised. "I don't want him to whip you, Damon."

"I don't want that either."

They managed to drive to the barn and get the phaeton backed into its place. Damon also got the horse returned to its stall. Its coat of red hair was still damp with sweat and it was easy to see the marks left on the sweaty coat by the harness. Damon asked the stableman, who came into the barn, to brush the horse down. Then Damon and Stefan returned to the vehicle with rags and tried to clean and buff the scraped paint and wood. The wheel looked bad. It had almost fallen apart on the slower ride home.

"Damon!" came a man's cold voice.

Damon turned to see his father standing in the doorway. The man looked angry and he had a leather riding crop, a short whip, in his hand. He moved to where he could see the damage to the vehicle.

"What happened. Tell me the truth," the stern man ordered.

"I got too close to a fence, Father. Lark shied a bit," Damon said.

"I just looked at Lark. He's been galloping. Hard. You were racing. Weren't you, Damon?"

Under the steely glare of Giuseppe's eyes, Damon nodded.

"It's all right, Papa," Stefan said fearfully. "It's not scraped up bad and the wheel can be fixed, can't it?" He badly wanted his father to forgive the damage.

"You get in the house. Right this minute, young man! Go," Giuseppe ordered and he watched the younger boy run from the barn as tears flooded his eyes and ran down his dirty face.

To Damon he said, "Take off your shirt."

Damon swallowed hard and pulled the shirt off over his head. He hated to be whipped. He knew he deserved some sort of punishment, but he felt that having his father scar his back was too much. He didn't know how many scars he already had on his back and now, he was about to get more. So far, he hadn't had the courage to confront his father and fight back. He was very close to doing it, though.

He leaned his head against the side of the vehicle's seat and gripped what he could.

"You lied to me about where you were going. You damaged your mother's phaeton. You disobeyed my rule about racing. And you endangered your brother," Giuseppe growled as he brought the crop in a fast swing to strike the flesh of his older son's back. He saw Damon wince, but make no sound. Determined to hear a cry from the stubborn boy, he laid the whip on until Damon gave a strangled cry and sagged down onto his knees against the vehicle. A hint of smile touched the man's face.

It didn't bother Giuseppe that there were seven red welts on his son's back or that three of them were oozing blood that slowly trickled down his son's skin. The boy deserved it. He was so disobedient and defiant. It gave the man pleasure to bring the boy to his knees.

"Please don't be harsh with Stefan, Father. He thought we were just going for a drive," Damon said, barely above a whispered.

When Giuseppe turned and walked away, Damon let himself down to sit on the dirt floor of the carriage shed. He leaned against a wheel and let the tears run down his face. I hate you! I hate you! That's the _last_ time I let you whip me, he thought fiercely.

He stayed there until he felt stronger again. He knew that the servants in the house would clean and care for his wounds. He picked up his shirt, but didn't put it on. As he trudged toward the house, he felt a surge of pride.

"I won the damned race," he muttered to himself and a smile of satisfaction touched his lips.

A/N I went to a horse show recently and saw various carts and carriages drawn by one, two and even four horses. I had to write this story. I hope you liked it. Please review. It encourages me to come up with more stories.


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